


burnt turkey and cranberry sauce massacres

by independentalto



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Thanksgiving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2018-11-23
Packaged: 2019-08-24 17:22:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16644527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/independentalto/pseuds/independentalto
Summary: Tony tries to cook on Thanksgiving. Natasha has something to tell Steve. Pepper just wants to get through this holiday without any stress.None of these things go as well as they'd like.





	1. At Least He's Trying

"Tell me something's not burning," Natasha groaned from the covers as the smell of acrid smoke permeated the air. "PLEASE tell me something's not burning." She risked sticking her head out of the blankets, yawning as she glanced around the still-dark bedroom. Sniff. “Dammit. There is.”

"It's too early for something to burn," Steve agreed from her other side, burrowing deeper into the blankets, much to Natasha's displeasure. "Tony doesn't start blowing stuff up until ten am." He chanced a glance at his alarm clock, which lay innocently on the nightstand next to him. "And it's....dear God, it's four-thirty."

"You go find out what he's doing," she protested, weakly attempting to tug back the covers Steve had stolen from her. "I don't wanna get out of bed. You stole the covers last night; I was freezing.”

" _ You _ do it," he retorted. "I did it the last time; Tony nearly threw a chicken out the window. And I’d like to mention that you nearly kicked me in the stomach at around two trying to get them back.”

"WHERE IS TONY STARK AND WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH HIM?!" There was the sound of breaking glass and the protest of the smoke detector, both making the soldier and spy dig deeper into their cocoons. 

"It's not even light out, and Barton decides he'll piss off Stark." Natasha drawled. "Lovely. At least none of us have to get out of bed to figure out what the hell’s going on.” She snuggled deeper into Steve, who chuckled at the display of affection. She’d kill anyone who found out she was a cuddler. 

“I know you two are awake!” Clint knocked on their door rapidly, almost splintering it in the process. “Can you two  _ please  _ come out here and help me knock Tony back into his right head?”

Her only response was a knife thrown at the door. “Fuck off, Barton. It’s four thirty. Your own damn fault for waking up. It ever occur to you he’s drunk or something?” Her arm, which had briefly snaked out of the comforter to throw the knife, was quickly drawn back in. “Dammit, did someone turn on the air conditioning last night or something?”

“No, that’s the bad part. Stark’s dead sober.” 

“Shiiiitttttt...” She was fully awake now, despite a half-drowsy Steve trying to pull her back to him. “Come on, Steve. Stark’s cooking.  _ Voluntarily. _ ”

“On Thanksgiving?” At that, his blue eyes shot wide open with fear. “On Thanksgiving.  _ It’s Thanksgiving! _ ” He quickly scrambled out of bed, Natasha stealing the blankets almost reflexively. “I gotta cook and everything!”

“You’re cooking turkey, Cap? Thank God.” The relief was evident in Clint’s voice. “I don’t think I could handle Stark trying to tell the difference between a turkey and a chicken again. He threw the chicken out the window last year, remember?” He took the silence to interpret that as a solid  _ yes _ . 

“Steve.” Natasha’s voice muffled itself out from the tangle of blankets, causing him to stop with one leg in his jeans. “We need a backup dinner.”

“What’s a backup dinner?” The super soldier was completely foreign to the idea. Making extra food in case the original meal fell through? And what if they hadn’t had a need for the second set? What a waste of food. Then again, he wasn’t the one paying for it, after all...

“Another one of everything.” She turned over so that she was facing him, propping her head on her elbow. “Turkey, vegetables...whatever the hell it is people eat on Thanksgiving.” Her emerald eyes were filled with seriousness, something that Steve missed in the dark as he hurriedly pulled his jeans on. “I’ll be damned if I don’t have a decent Thanksgiving with--” She suddenly shut her mouth, drawing his attention.

“With what?” Having finally gotten his jeans on, he went over to Natasha, perching on the edge of the bed. “Nat, what are you talking about?” A thought suddenly hit him. “Oh, God, you’re not breaking up with me on Thanksgiving, are you? Because that’s just a whole other world of cruel that I don’t even think  _ you’re  _ capable of.”

She let out a laugh then, a respondent, rich velvet flow of music despite the early hour. “No, I’m not breaking up with you. God, no.” He leaned in to kiss her then. “That’s for Christmas.” He froze. “Babe.” She picked her head up to meet his lips. “I’m joking. Go get groceries.”

* * *

 

“I swear he’s been kidnapped,” Clint ranted at a more decent hour of the morning, pacing back and forth in the living room. Tony was singing merrily in the kitchen, accompanied by the clanging of pots and pans. “Someone’s taken the real Tony Stark and replaced him with this one. Only they screwed up badly. The  _ real  _ Tony Stark doesn’t cook--he just sits, bitches, and drinks.” 

“Oh, shut up, Legolas,” Tony called back, head immersed deep in the refrigerator. “I just want to make a meal for my lovely wife and unborn child. Is that such a crime?”

“If you’re the one cooking, yes, it is,” Clint muttered. 

Thor scratched his head. “I am fairly sure that Loki hath not been near Friend Stark for quite some time. This paradox is quite baffling.” Even the Asgardian knew better than to let Tony near cooking utensils on any occasion whatsoever.

Bruce entered the room, holding a vial of blood and squinting at it confusedly. “There’s nothing wrong with his blood work. I’ve checked it five times and there isn’t anything in it. No toxins, no drugs...there isn’t even an elevated level of alcohol!” He sighed and lowered the flask, looking at Clint. “As scientifically impossible as this may be, I think Tony actually wants to cook.” 

“I think we may or may not have to film this,” Pepper announced, waddling in. She was quite pregnant now, at the point where she waddled everywhere she went, much to the men’s amusement. “Tony’s actually cooking for once. Should I call the world record committee? Or whatever I need to get this inthe history books?”

“I resent that comment,” Tony snorted as he took a carton of eggs out of the refrigerator. “I can cook just as well as any of you.”

  
“As well as Tasha, maybe,” Clint snorted. “We’re talking about the one who manages to burn cereal.” He was promptly hit in the side of the head with a pillow.

“Says the man who thought that onions and garlic were the same thing. Remind me how Bobbi puts up with you again?”

* * *

 

_ After the potatoes have been boiled, let them sit for fifteen minutes. Take them out and slice them, then place into a large pot for mashing. Mash until creamy, then add butter, salt, pepper, cream and garlic to taste. _

“Garlic?” Tony muttered. “Why the hell would anyone put garlic in their mashed potatoes? Why not white wine?” Still, this was Pepper’s Thanksgiving, and he was hell-bent on making sure the entire meal was done right, beginning to end. The potatoes had been sliced and boiled, and were now sitting at the bottom of a large soup pot, ready to be mashed. All he had to do was find a masher and he’d be ready to go. 

Wait. Where  _ was  _ the masher?

“JARVIS?” he whispered, not wanting anyone to know he wasn’t even capable of finding a simple kitchen utensil. Personally, he thought he’d done great by making it this far. He’d sliced potatoes and boiled them--Clint couldn’t even boil water. “Where’s the potato masher?”

“In the second drawer to the right, Sir,” JARVIS, ever so discreet, opened the correct drawer with a loud clattering of utensils. Tony scurried over to the drawer, picking out the masher with ease. 

“Alright, one, two three--” He brought the masher down with all of his strength, expecting to at least reduce  _ one  _ potato to bits. But when Tony opened his eyes, there was no sign of potato bits at all. In fact, all of the potato slices were still solid. 

He tried again, this time making more of an Asgardian effort. Still nothing. What was he doing wrong? Tony brought down the masher repetitively, making more of a hacking motion than that of mashing. Suddenly, one of the potato slices in the pot slipped out of the grasp of the masher, flying an impressive distance for a small piece of starch. It arced across the room, past the couch...

...and right through the window with a loud tinkle. Tony had just broken a window. With a potato. 

“Well, there go the potatoes,” Clint deadpanned, following the billionaire’s shocked gaze. “Pro tip. I wouldn’t mention this to Pepper. She’s not going to want to fix a window on Thanksgiving Day.” He reached into the pot and brought out a potato, weighing it in his hand. “Tony, did you get potatoes or did you get taro? I swear, if you went to that Asian supermarket in downtown Manhattan again...”

“Looks like he got coconuts,” Bruce proclaimed, examining the object in Clint’s outstretched hand. “Nope,” he declared shortly, popping the ‘p’. “Definitely taro. I’ll take those,” he said to Tony, “they’ll make a good taro and pork.” Both the billionaire and archer were left stunned as the scientist headed to the elevator whistling, pot in hand.

* * *

 

“Can you at least  _ tell  _ me what we're going to be eating?" Natasha demanded as Steve purposely pushed his cart through the aisles of the local Whole Foods. "Vegetables? Meat? Are we eating some weird Mexican food?" He raised an eyebrow at that, and she shrugged, putting her palms up. "Hey. Missions get weird. If Clint can make anything, it's a mean churro."

  
"How about the turkey?" he challenged, hefting the thirty-pound bird into the cart. Surveying the bird, he frowned. "Think we'll need another bird?"   
  
"Knowing that we're eating with two super-sized appetites and a very pregnant lady?  _ Yes _ ." Steve rolled his eyes and put another bird into the shopping cart. "...That's not a _ fresh _ turkey, is it?"   
  
"...Yes, what's wrong with a fresh turkey?" Steve asked. "Never had frozen turkey in my day, not gonna start now." Natasha promptly picked up the turkey and threw it gently back into the freezer, exchanging it for a frozen one.   
  
"Let's go frozen. You know,  _ let it go _ and whatnot..."   
  
"You know fresh is technically better than frozen," he argued, switching the birds back again. "You don't know what's been put into the frozen turkey. Fresh is as fresh as it can get."   
  
"You can get just as sick with a fresh turkey," she retorted, switching the birds he'd just picked. The two of them were now staring at each other, holding the turkeys in their arms. "Cross-contamination. Pathogens. All sorts of things they didn't have in  _ your day _ ,"   
  
"Did you really just use my upbringing as an excuse?" He raised an eyebrow at her mildly. "That's low, Nat. That's pretty damn low."   
  
"Which is why you never want to argue with a--" Realizing what she was about to say, she clamped her mouth shut for the second time that day, instead plunking the frozen turkey into the cart.   
  
"A what?" Steve asked, easily taking one frozen turkey out of the cart and replacing it with a fresh one. "A woman? Believe me, I've tried that."   
  
"A Russian. Yeah--yeah, a Russian. Never argue with a Russian over turkey," was her weak response.

* * *

 

“This isn’t so hard,” Tony muttered to himself, surveying the various ingredients spread out on the kitchen counter. “Bread, sausage, celery, rice, onions...how hard can it get?” 

He began to chop up the bread, throwing it into a large metal bowl, adding to it the sausage and onions, all the while mouthing the ingredients. “Barton can go to hell,” he said confidently. “I’m not going to mess this up. This is absolutely impossible to mess up. Not like the damn potatoes. Nothing’s going to fly out of the window, no siree...”

“Don’t stir too hard now, Stark,” Clint teased as he passed by, “You already broke a window. Let’s not aim for two.” Tony shot him the middle finger as he continued to stir the mass, glancing at the instructions.  _ Add milk _ . 

“Okay, milk.” Retrieving the carton from the fridge, he poured the white liquid into the bread mixture until it was satisfactorily soggy, and went back to stirring. 

“Um, Tony...? Are you sure it’s supposed to be that...wet?” Bruce asked cautiously, peering into the bowl of meat and soggy bread Tony was now mixing with ease.

“I don’t think so, actually,” the billionaire declared, peering into the bowl himself. “I think it needs salt, and then it’ll dry right up to the texture it needs to be. Just like chemistry!” He went over to the cabinet and pulled out the large container of salt--this time, he actually knew where it was--and shook some in. The white mush still looked soggy. “It’ll dry up,” he assured himself. “All I have to do is mix.” A couple turns of the spoon later, he was right. “I  _ knew  _ I could cook!”

“Now to put it into the oven...” That was the easy part. He knew how to pre-heat an oven, and he knew how to put something in. Now, all that there was left to do was wait and hope that there would be at least  _ one  _ edible dish for Thanksgiving...

“How do you fare in your quest to create sustenance, Friend Stark?” Thor boomed, entering the kitchen some time later. Tony was hunched in front of the oven, watching the stuffing rise and bubble. He had to say, it was coming along quite well. Nothing had burned, and it actually resembled the dish in the picture the recipe depicted. 

“Thirty seconds,” Tony told him. “Then we’ll see if I did this right.”  _ Ten...nine...eight...seven...six...five...four...three...two...one... _

“It is time!” Thor proclaimed, easily opening the oven and taking out the dish. Without oven mitts. Tony’s mouth hung open at Thor’s ease handling the dish.

“That’s--Thor--a hot dish--”

“Nonsense, Friend Stark!” he answered cheerfully. “‘Tis nothing, compared to the roasted game on Asgard.”

“Alright, Stark’s serving up the grub!” Clint exclaimed, suddenly appearing in the kitchen wielding a spoon. “Shall we have a grand taste?” His spoon hovered over the browned crust of the stuffing, still steaming from when Thor had taken it out of the oven. 

“I’m in,” Pepper waddled into the kitchen, retrieving a spoon from the cutlery drawer. “Everyone spoon in at the count of three? One, two, three!” She and Clint dug their spoons in for a hearty spoonful, gently blowing on their mass of stuffing before tipping it back into their mouths. Tony noticed that Clint did so with a slight look of apprehension. 

It wasn’t too long before Pepper swallowed painfully, plastering a smile onto her face for her husband’s sake. “Wow, Tony, that’s...interesting...”

“Yeah,” Clint gasped, swallowing his own spoonful. “Definitely a new twist on stuffing.” The two of them shared a look which instantly made Tony’s stomach sink. He’d screwed up again, hadn’t he?

“Alright, you two, what’d I do?”

“Tony, I think...you may or may not have used sugar instead of salt?” Pepper questioned gently. “Don’t worry, anyone could make that mistake.”

“Not the consistency of the stuffing, though.” Clint, blunt as ever, scooped up another spoonful of stuffing. “Can I start a food fight with this mush?” He jokingly aimed at Tony, completely unintending to hit him, but did so anyways.  

“Boys.” Pepper’s voice was reproachful. “Wait until I waddle out of the room.”

“Yes, ma’am.” As soon as she’d made it past the doorway, Tony scooped up a handful of the mushy stuffing and threw it at Clint, hitting him square in the face. 

“PAYBACK’S A BITCH, ISN’T IT, BARTON?” he yelled before sprinting away. Clint’s responding shot hit him square in the back, burning a square patch onto it and bringing Tony to the ground. “OW! MY BACK! I NEED A CHIROPRACTOR!”

* * *

 

"Are we having stuffing?" Natasha bugged as Steve grabbed a number of stuffing loaves from the shelf. "I've never had stuffing," she babbled. "At most, I've had mush, because this family that I had to take out  _ tried _ to make stuffing, and they left the oven on when we blew the house up--"

"Nat, are you sure  _ you _ haven't been brainwashed lately?" The cart was suddenly stopped, a concerned look on Steve's face as he turned to face the redhead. "You  _ never _ babble about missions. Hell, you don't even  _ babble _ ."

She swallowed, wanting to phrase her words carefully. There were some secrets that had to be kept for a reason. "I'm fine, Steve. It's just my first Thanksgiving, is all. I'm nervous. What if something happens? Tony's cooking is infamous, after all."

"But you gotta admit that he makes a decent...actually, never mind. That sentence doesn't exist." Steve shook his head as he wondered at his state of mind in which he actually considered Tony to have culinary skills. “Can you get the celery?” She made a face but went off anyways. 

He sighed. Something had just been so... _ off  _ about Natasha lately, although he couldn’t put his finger on it. The babbling, the secrets...He’d asked her about it plenty of times, but knew her well enough to know when she was fronting. The truth was, he’d actually been a tiny bit serious if he’d asked her this morning if she was breaking up with him. Had she found someone else? Steve didn’t think he could handle it if Natasha left him for someone else. Come to think of it, she  _ had  _ been spending a lot of time with Bruce lately...

Steve shook his head. Natasha would  _ never _ cheat on him with Bruce. He trusted the good doctor with his life. Surely, if something had happened, Bruce would’ve let him know.

“Got the celery,” Natasha’s mildly amused voice rang back into his ears as she dropped several plastic bags’ worth of celery into the cart. “Saw May, too. Apparently she’s going to try and cook for Coulson today.” Her smile was absolutely infectious, and made Steve grin a bit, too. “If there’s any state of it, May’s cooking skills are even worse than mine.”

“Natasha, you burnt cereal. Which, by the way, I still don’t get. It’s not physically possible.”

“I only did it once. May’s managed to make peanut butter and jelly spontaneously combust. She gives a whole new meaning to the words ‘Homer cooking’.” She rolled her eyes and attempted to peer over his shoulder for the next ingredient on the list, squirming a bit as she balanced on her tiptoes. At the somber look on his face, she paused a bit, her smile faltering. “Steve...you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Two could play at the game of secrets. After all, he could think about it as an exercise at being undercover. Fury had told him multiple times that he’d been an awful liar. “Just thinking, that’s all.”  _ Had he been a good boyfriend lately? Okay, sure, there was that time he’d left the toilet seat up and everything, but that had ONLY been because he’d gotten back from a mission that had required him to act like a total bachelor...  _ “Now, I think we need some green beans...”

* * *

 

“CRANBERRY SAUCE ACCOMPLISHED!” was the triumphant phrase that rang through the kitchen as Tony emptied the last can of cranberry sauce into the overly large dish bowl. “I did it, suckers!”

“Dude. You opened fifty cans and put their contents into bowls.” Clint was frowning. “Tell me what kind of culinary finesse that required, again?”

“It required skill with a can opener,” Tony answered, miffed. “And also, superior measuring skills. You had to know how many cans of cranberry sauce fit into each bowl, lest you overflow a bowl and everything goes to shit.” 

“And how many cans to a bowl?” Clint deadpanned. “Do tell, before I kick the bucket from old age.”

“Three cans to a bowl,” Tony announced proudly, scooping up a bowl into his arms and heading towards the large table that had been set up the in the living room. Various places adorned the table, including a dinner plate resembling a shield for Steve, and one with an arc reactor for Tony. The first bowl made it onto the table just fine, for which Tony breathed a sigh of relief. At the very least, the baby would have cranberry sauce. That is, if Thor didn’t eat it all first. 

“Ah, shit.” Clint muttered from the kitchen. Suddenly panicked that he’d ruined Tony’s (sort of) hard effort, the man in question dashed into the kitchen, not failing to notice the small bit of cranberry sauce Clint had dropped onto the floor. 

“Tony, look--” The archer was cut off by Tony slipping on the cranberry sauce, arms flailing as he tried to gain balance, sweeping one of them at all of the bowls, knocking them to the floor. He was suddenly on the tile floor covered in cranberry sauce, blinking as some of its acidity got into his eyes. “--out.”

“TONY! WHAT HAPPENED?!” Upon seeing Tony on the floor covered in red, Bruce tore into the kitchen, collapsing onto his knees at the sight of the prone billionaire. “You’re bleeding out! Did Clint accidentally shoot you or something?”

“I’m offended!” Clint exclaimed. “If I’d wanted to shoot him, I would’ve done it a  _ long  _ time ago!”

“It’s just cranberry sauce,” Tony coughed, having swallowed some of the gelatinous substance when he’d fallen. “I’m okay, Brucie.” 

“....at least we have  _ one  _ bowl of cranberry sauce,” Pepper sighed from the dining room.

* * *

 

“Can we get some kimchi?” Natasha inquired, startling Steve. She hadn’t said a word since having gotten the celery, and since then, the two of them had gotten canned corn, butternut squash, and several cans of cranberry sauce. “I have a weird craving for kimchi.”

“Where would I even  _ find  _ that?” Steve wondered out loud, more to himself than to Natasha. She could feel the cold shoulder he was giving her, and despaired, trying to find out what she’d done wrong. “That sounds vaguely...Asian.”

“Two aisles down,” She pointed at the sign boasting all sorts of Asian foods, seaweed and kimchi included. “I’ll get it,” she told him, hurrying away.

She’d picked out the jar of kimchi some time ago, but had just needed some time to herself.  _ What did I do wrong? Was it something I said? Oh, God, what if it was that quip I made about the forties? I don’t know why I said it, I just...what if he’s mad at me for that? Shit. What if he’s breaking up with me? Is that why he asked me that this morning? Does he want to leave me? I knew he was too good for me,  _ she lamented, sighing.  _ I’m so selfish to have kept him to myself. I bet he wants Hill. Or, wait, no, maybe it’s Sharon... _

“Nat?” She turned to see Steve with a full cart, concern lacing his blue eyes. “You got the, uh..kim-chee? Is that how they say it?” His confused expression was so adorable she had to smile. 

“I got it,” she answered, gently placing the jar into the cart. “You got everything you need?”

_ What if he knows?  _


	2. he really did try

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony's still trying, he really is. Somehow, Pepper ends up taking the cake.

“Oh, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit...” Tony hurried into the kitchen to see black smoke billowing out of the oven. “Not the turkey, man! Not the turkey!” Wrenching the oven door open, he was greeted with the sight of a flaming turkey, setting off the wailing of the smoke alarms for the second time that day. “That’s the second turkey today!”

“Tony! Did you...ah, yes, you did,” Bruce hurried in, hacking. “You burnt the bird again. Did you do what I told you to do yesterday?”

“I did!” he insisted, reaching for some oven mitts and mentally preparing himself to take the flaming food out of the belly of the beast. “I just had to take a quick bathroom break, and when I got back, the damn thing was on fire!” Panicking, he reached for the first liquid there was, intending to pour it over the bird to put out the flames.

“TONY, DON’T, THAT’S--”

But Tony had already poured the offending liquid over the turkey, and instead of putting out the flames, succeeded in sending them all over the kitchen. Luckily for them, at that moment, Clint arrived with a fire extinguisher, spraying it with abandon. Soon, Tony and Bruce were covered in foam, making it look like several birds had had attacks of diarrhea over the both of them.

“--Natasha’s vodka. Oh, she’s going to kill you when she gets back,” Clint exclaimed gleefully.

“Well. We got covered in a bird’s shit.” Tony said. “Literally. I take it there’s no more cooking today?”

“I’m going to go call Steve,” Bruce answered, gingerly stepping in the phone, lest he slip and cover himself in foam  _ and  _ cranberry sauce. Tony just sighed.

* * *

 

“Well, I’m glad we took the time to go to the supermarket,” Steve told Natasha later on their floor, unloading the groceries they’d gotten. “Tony managed to scorch the entire kitchen. Looks like I’m the one cooking dinner.” She simply nodded. 

“I’m going to go take a nap, if that’s alright with you.” Steve made an abstract motion, and she headed to the bedroom, shutting the door before finally beginning to silently sob into her pillow.

* * *

 

“Wow, Steve, this looks great!” Pepper praised as Steve set the last of the prepared foods down onto the table, both of them already groaning under the weight of two birds, stuffing, and the various vegetables, not to mention the dish Bruce had conjured up with the failed taro. A sheet of plastic wrap had been stretched over the broken window, with an unspoken agreement not to speak of the incident. Tony’s ego had been bruised enough already. 

“All I did was follow a recipe,” he chuckled, grinning slightly. “It’s not that hard, once you get past the cooking jargon...” He trailed off, looking out the window.

“You know I normally don’t ask, but are you...did something...?” Pepper didn’t press often, but when she did, the situation usually was past crisis point. “Is Nat...?”

“Nat? She’s fine,” Steve answered offhandedly, still refusing to look her in the face. “We just...at the supermarket today...” Sighing, he ran a hand through his blond hair. “Has she talked to you lately? About anything at all?” He finally turned to her, true worry etched onto his face. “Some other guy she’s been really friendly with, for example...or, you know, another girl, that works just as well...”

“Um,” Pepper choked slightly. “Unless you want to hear, for the hundredth time, I’m sure, about how all of the men in Admin are sexist jerks, then I’m not sure I can be of any assistance in that area...” She didn’t mention how the fiery redhead had turned up one night when Tony had been in the lab pulling an all-nighter (which she’d been planning to kill him for), sobbing incoherently about something Pepper hadn’t really understood. There were just some things that had to be kept secret.

A look of horror crossed Steve’s face. He’d heard  _ that  _ story too many times to count. “No, thanks, Pepper. I’m good on that, though. But thanks.”

“No problem.” Natasha’s rant on the Administration men was enough to scare any man. “Have you tried talking to her?”

“That’s the thing,” Steve ground out frustratedly. “She  _ won’t _ . Every time I try to ask something, she skitters away.”

“I’m sure she’ll tell you in due time,” she assured him gently. “Right now, though, let’s have food. I’m starved!” Right at that moment, there was a subtle  _ plop _ , along with the sound of something dripping onto the floor. “Or not. I think my water just broke.”

* * *

 

“Okay, Pepper, we’re at eight centimeters. Two more until we’re going to start pushing,” Bruce assured the sweaty CEO, who was gripping Tony’s hand like it was the end of the world. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m going to fucking CASTRATE you, Tony Stark!” Pepper exclaimed violently, cheeks flushed. “We are not having any more children in this fucking lifetime! You fucking hear me?!” Tony chuckled. 

“Whatever you say, sweetheart.” 

“I gotta say, Tony, you’re holding up pretty well,” Clint commented from the far end of the room they’d set up in the lab just for the purpose of the baby’s birth. Pepper had insisted on giving birth at the tower, not ‘trusting the doctors enough with the baby that’s going to save the world one day’. “You looked like you were going to jump out of the window earlier.” It was true. Tony had run a couple of circles around the table, run into the kitchen and had promptly slipped on cranberry sauce, rendering him unconscious for an hour until Natasha had poured ice water on him. Once he’d woken up, he’d panicked yet again, and hadn’t shut up until Pepper had started screaming his name.

He chuckled exhaustedly. “It’s going to be a long night.”

“Nine centimeters, Pepper. Get ready.”

“You shall be fine, Lady Pepper,” Thor reassured her in his low baritone voice. “Think of the unconditional love you shall feel for your child once they emerge from the womb. It is unlike any other feeling in the world, I can assure you.” 

“Do we even want to know how he knows this?” Clint murmured to Tony, who smirked. 

“What I want to know is how he’s right,” Pepper groaned, throwing her head back. “AAAGH!” The smirk on Tony’s face was instantly replaced by a look of worry as he massaged his wife’s knuckles soothingly, murmuring words of encouragement.

“Ten centimeters, Pepper!” Bruce exclaimed. “Here we go.”

For the next couple of minutes, there was nothing but the sound of Pepper grunting as she struggled to push out the baby. Each Avenger watched with bated breath, save for Bruce, who wore a look of total determination like no one had ever seen. 

Even in their discordant state, Steve couldn’t help but think of Natasha in that moment. He knew as well as she did that they wouldn’t be able to have children, something he was eternally grateful for. He would’ve hated to pass on his messed-up genes to any descendants. But one day, he hoped for a child that they could love and care for, just like Pepper and Tony would have soon. 

Natasha watched the proceedings with a look of apprehension and nervousness. Pepper seemed to be going to through hell. Once again, the human body never ceased to amaze her with its wonders (okay, so maybe most of those wonders came in the form of Steve Rogers,) at how Pepper was managing the pain without passing out. 

“One last push, and you’re going to meet your new baby!” Bruce called to Pepper, who immediately gave the biggest push she’d given all night, her vocal cords giving out as she screamed hoarsely. Soon, the cry of a newborn baby could be heard as Bruce cut the various cords, swaddling the baby in a blanket. “Congratulations, you two! It’s a girl!” He began to strip off his gloves, disposing of them in a wastebasket. “The rest of you, get out. Let them have their moment.” One by one, the five of them filed out of the room. 

“So, I think some congratulatory champagne is in order,” Clint announced, bringing out a bottle he’d stashed in the lab fridge earlier. He popped the cork, Bruce already reaching for the flutes. “To the new girl!” The four men clinked glasses, Natasha having declined the alcohol, wistfully eyeing it instead. 

“You sure you don’t want any, Nat?” Steve asked as he sipped from his flute. “Normally, you’d be hitting the vodka pretty heavily by now...”

She snorted gracefully (how did anyone  _ do  _ that?) and settled further back into her chair. “Even if there  _ was  _ vodka, I wouldn’t be able to drink it for a while,”

Clint dropped the bottle in surprise, it shattering on the floor. 

“Aw, come on, Barton, that was a decent bottle of--what’s happened?” Tony came out, wheeling Pepper and his child. He looked from each Avenger, from Clint’s shocked faces to Thor and Steve’s puzzled ones. “What’s happened?”

“Well, for one, Natasha refused alcohol,” Steve said mulishly. “And now she’s telling us she won’t be able to drink vodka for a while.” Comprehension dawned on Pepper’s face, and she squealed in joy, careful not to wake her newborn child.

“Congrats, Nat!” Natasha smiled softly, curling up onto her knees. “If I weren’t in this stupid wheelchair, I’d be hugging you right now. To death, I assure you.” 

“Would someone mind telling us what’s going on?” Tony demanded, breaking their moment. “There are quite a few of us who’d like to know here.”

“Tony, do you remember how I told you I was pregnant?” Pepper asked quietly. 

“I took out a bottle of Chantis and you said you--” A large grin broke out onto Tony’s face. “Congratulations, Natashalie.”

“And for that, I won’t kill you. Just this once,” Natasha murmured back, feeling giddy that her secret was now semi-out in the open. 

“Congrats,” Clint echoed, still in shock. He turned to Bruce, who was nursing a little grin of his own. “Banner, you sneaky bastard. How long have you known?”

“About a month or so,” Bruce answered sheepishly. “I was expressly threatened not to tell anyone until everyone else knew.” 

“Many congratulations, Lady Natasha,” Thor boomed, Clint having clued the god in while Pepper had been squealing. “I am sure he or she will be quite worthy.”

“He--she--what?” Steve squeaked. He quickly turned to Natasha, shock on his face. “You’re not--it can’t be--I thought it was impossible--”

She grinned. “Surprise?” At the look on his face, she relented, “I would’ve told you sooner, Steve, I really would’ve, but I wanted to know whether the baby was okay and...”

“Is  _ that  _ why you’ve been avoiding me and spending so much time with Bruce?” She nodded. “Geez, I thought you were going to leave me for him!” He shook his head. “It actually makes sense, now...Did he say the baby was okay?”

“Completely healthy,” Bruce answered cheerfully. “She’ll be due in eight months.” He frowned at Steve mockingly. “Really? You thought she’d leave  _ you  _ for  _ me _ ?”

“To be fair, I thought he was going to leave  _ me _ .” Natasha confessed quietly, and all eyes turned to her. “I know it’s irrational, but I just thought...”

“ _ Natasha. _ ” Steve swept her up into his arms, cradling her into his shoulder. “I will  _ never  _ leave you.  _ Ever. _ You got that? Especially with this baby.”

“We’ve got another baby Avenger on the way,” Clint said in shock. Then he buried his head in his hands. “Oh, damn. Another nine months of pregnancy hormones. Tasha’s going to make Pepper look like Baby Jesus.”

Natasha swiped at his head. “Shut up, Barton. We’re looking for a baby from you and Morse soon.” 

“To the baby, and the new one!” Bruce proposed, and everyone raised a toast. 

“To babies!”

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on tumblr at @typosandteabags :) please feel free to yell about this if you're here for it, i guess?


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